


Have the Wish I Wish Tonight

by msraven



Series: Trope Bingo Round 3 Blackout [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Backstory, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Meetings, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Locked In, M/M, Nice Aliens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msraven/pseuds/msraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint knew that hitchhiking through Alabama was risky, but he never imagined being abducted by aliens. Or those aliens trying to fulfill his wishes by bringing him Phil.</p>
<p>A fill for the locked in square on my trope_bingo card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have the Wish I Wish Tonight

Clint's been in captivity for over two weeks when the alert chime pings and a guy materializes into the room. The guy's older—late twenties or early thirties—good looking and muscular, but slim, with dark hair and beautiful blue eyes. 

Clint can't help it, he laughs. He laughs until there are tears rolling down his face and his sides ache. The guy just stands there patiently until Clint regains control of himself and wipes at his eyes, still trying to get his breathing under control. 

"Sorry," Clint gasps. "I'm sorry, but I didn't think they'd actually do it."

"They?"

"The aliens or whatever." Clint motions around him at the smooth walls and the few furnishings he's requested—a couch, bed, table, and chair—all as stark white as the walls. "Prisons tend to be grey."

"You know that from experience or television?"

"A little of both," Clint replies, trying to match the guy's bland tone and is rewarded by a small uptick at the corner of his mouth. 

The guy steps forward and holds out his hand as if he were wearing a suit and not just a pair of boxer briefs. "I'm Phil. You are?"

"Clint. Welcome to my glorified fishbowl."

Clint shakes Phil's hand and then walks over to sit on the couch, glad for his own pair of briefs. The aliens have rejected all of Clint's other requests for more clothes, claiming that they were there to study the human form. The regularly replenished pair of tighty-whiteys isn't much, but it is still better than walking around buck-naked like he had for the first few days.

"If you don't mind my saying," Phil says as he takes a seat next to Clint, "you don't seem very concerned about this situation."

"Oh, I was concerned plenty the first few days."

"How long have you been here?"

"A few weeks."

_"Weeks?"_

"Assuming they're brightening and dimming the lights based on actual days, yeah." Clint shrugs. "It hasn't been horrible. It's warm in here, they feed me whatever I ask for, and they haven't tried to dissect me yet."

"Most people would still be freaking out."

"I was raised in a circus, so I'm not exactly _most people._ " Clint shrugs again. "They seem intent on trying to figure out what makes me happy, which… I really am sorry for dragging you into this."

Phil opens and closes his mouth a few times, making Clint grin. It's clear that he's trying to decide which is a more pressing question—whether Clint is lying about the circus or the reason for his abduction. The guy is all kinds of adorable.

"How exactly does making you happy include me?"

Clint leans back along the couch and smirks, letting his gaze roam slowly over Phil's body before meeting his eyes with a raised eyebrow. Phil's eyes go wide and the tips of his ears turn pink.

"You asked for someone to…"

Clint shakes his head. "Not exactly. Sometimes I say stuff and they make it happen even if I don't make it a specific request. It's how I figured out how to ask for my favorite foods."

"And you just happened to be talking about…"

"Let's just say I was 'taking care' of things last night," Clint explains without embarrassment. "It always helps to have a visual in mind—I have a pretty good imagination—and I guess I must have said most of it out loud."

"And I'm—"

The message chime sounds, interrupting Phil, and a line of text appears on the wall across from them.

_Are you happy, Clint?_

Clint chuckles. "It's not that simple, but I appreciate the effort."

_Does he not meet your specifications?_

"Oh, he definitely meets my specifications, but you should probably just send him back where you got him."

_Does he make you unhappy?_

"No!" Clint says quickly, realizing that this is the first time they've asked him that and he has no idea what they'd do to Phil if he said yes. "It's great. He's— Phil's great. Thank you."

_We are glad you are happy._

The text blinks off and Clint shrugs at Phil apologetically. "Sorry."

"Is that how they normally communicate with you?"

"Yeah. They chime whenever they want to talk to me or just before something shows up—didn't at first and boy, talk about freaking out—but other than that, nothing but the text."

"Shows up?"

"Materializes? Beams in? I don't know what to call it. It's not all sparkly lights like on Star Trek. It was frustrating at first because I was hoping a door would open at some point so I could try and escape, but the walls are smooth. No seams. Everything just beams in and out. Here, watch." Clint looks up at the ceiling—which is silly now that the thinks about it—and calls out, "Hey guys! We're gonna need another bed."

The air around Clint's unmade bed gets a little wavy looking and then the bed disappears. A second later, it happens again, and a larger bed appears, complete with a second side table and lamp.

"Not quite what I meant, but close enough, I guess."

"Were you with the circus when they abducted you?" Phil asks, making Clint turn back to look at him. "Won't they be missing you if you've been gone this long?

"Nah. Haven't been with the circus in years. I float around on my own now and do, uh... odd jobs." Clint tries not to fidget—it was mostly the truth. "I was hitchhiking out of Alabama one afternoon and then bam! Here I am. What do you do?"

"I'm an accountant."

Clint snorts. "Whatever, man. It's fine. Don't tell me."

"You don't believe me?"

"You're not freaking out either and nobody who moves like you sits behind a desk all day." One of Phil's eyebrows goes up and Clint taps his temple by his eye. "I see better than most people," Clint explains. "Plus I know what a scar from a bullet wound looks like."

They stare at each other for a minute until they both silently agree to stop poking at each other's secrets—for now at least.

"So is there anything more interesting to do than stare at the walls?"

Clint is proud of himself for not voicing the innuendo on the tip of his tongue, instead showing Phil the stack of books he has on the table and how the far end of the room converts to a virtual gym on command.

~^~

The next three days are uneventful. It's surprisingly easy to adapt to having Phil in the confined space, despite Clint having spent most of his adult life alone. Not even sleeping in the same bed together is awkward, unless you count Clint needing to jerk off in the shower every morning.

Clint knows, intellectually, that Phil was almost literally plucked from his sexual fantasies, but the level of attraction he feels for the other man still shocks him. He's never been so thoroughly distracted by how someone's throat moves while they're drinking or how they lick their finger before turning a page in a book or how peaceful they look while sleeping. What makes matters worse is that Clint _likes_ Phil. He's smart and funny and actually seems to enjoy talking to Clint. They spend hours debating everything from the merits of the last three installments of the Star Wars saga to the reasons why the former Soviet Union collapsed. Clint wishes he were brave enough to tell his alien caretakers that Phil really does make him unhappy because Clint's pretty sure that the frustration of looking, but not touching, is going to slowly drive him insane.

It all bubbles over on the fourth morning when Phil suggests they spar together. It's clear from the look in Phil's eyes that he doesn't think Clint will measure up—a challenge that Clint can't ignore. Clint has never had any formal hand-to-hand training, but he's agile and quick and more flexible than most people expect from someone with his muscle mass. Clint is also sneaky and a fast learner, laughing when he finally manages to pin Phil on his back.

The laughter dies on Clint's lips when he sees that Phil's eyes have darkened with desire, his gaze fixed on the front of Clint's briefs. He must make some sort of noise because Phil's eyes suddenly flick up to meet his and Clint can't keep himself from sitting back, his ass coming to rest on firmly on Phil's crotch and giving him ample proof that Phil wants him back. They both groan at the contact.

Clint suddenly finds himself on his back and braces himself for Phil to hit him or, at the very least, scramble off of him. He's not expecting for Phil's mouth to come crashing down on his, the kiss hard and frantic and nowhere near enough. Clint cants his hips up, desperate for contact, and Phil complies by grinding down against him. 

"Phil…" Clint moans— _begs_ —as Phil's mouth starts to suck wet kisses against his neck.

Phil doesn't answer except to shove roughly at Clint's and his own underwear, both of them groaning loudly when their cocks finally come together with nothing between them. Clint wraps his hand around them alongside Phil's and they begin to move in earnest, more coordinated than Clint would have predicted. Clint's gasps and moans fill the room, free hand grasping at Phil's back while Phil can't seem to pull his mouth away from Clint's skin. 

Clint feels the tell-tale simmer of his impending orgasm and he closes his eyes, giving himself up to the sensation. He cries out when it hits—stronger than anything he's ever experienced before—tightening his hold on Phil as the older man's hips stutter against him before Phil shudders and bites down on the hard muscle of Clint's shoulder as he comes.

Some indeterminable amount of time later, Phil shoves himself off Clint, flopping over onto his back while they both stare dazedly at the white ceiling. Clint waits for his breathing to even out, a thought occurring to him as his brain function comes back online.

"Did you… Did you just do that to see if they'd send you home?"

Phil props himself up on an elbow to look down at Clint. "Partially," he answers honestly. "And partially because you're gorgeous. All my vices walking around on two legs." Phil brushes a lock of hair off Clint's forehead tenderly, eyes going soft and serious. "I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't genuinely interested in you or had doubts about your interest in me."

Clint struggles not to blush under Phil's gaze and sits up, wrinkling his nose at the quickly drying come on his stomach. "Yuck. I'm gonna grab a shower." He gets up and is most of the way across the room when he turns to look over his shoulder at Phil, who's still sitting where Clint left him. "You coming?"

Clint laughs when Phil jumps up eagerly to run across the room. They're too spent to do much in the shower, but it's nice to share slow kisses and take the time to explore each other's bodies under the warm spray of the water.

Nothing much else changes, except that they now have the freedom to touch and taste when they would have only looked before. When they settle on the couch to read after dinner, Clint lays down with his head in Phil's lap, smiling unrepentantly up at him. Phil rolls his eyes and cards his fingers through Clint's hair, making Clint sigh happily. It's peaceful and comfortable, until Clint gets distracted by the fact that Phil's cock is close enough to taste.

It takes another two days before they move beyond handjobs and mutually mind-melting blowjobs, when Phil blushingly admits that their ever-friendly caretakers have stocked Phil's side of the bed with condoms and lube. Clint doesn't bother with words, shucking off his briefs as fast as he's able and scrambling onto the bed. Phil is amazingly gentle as he preps Clint and when he finally slips inside—his cock filling Clint perfectly—Clint can't help thinking that he never wants to give this up.

It's that thought that has Clint up late into the night, watching Phil's peaceful face as he sleeps curled across Clint's chest. As amazing as the past few days have been, Clint can still see how captivity is taking a toll on Phil—the inaction and thoughts of the responsibilities he's left behind. Clint knows that Phil isn't his to keep.

"Hey guys?" Clint calls out softly and there's a muted chime before the wall lights up with text.

_How can we make you happy, Clint?_

"You need to send Phil home. He has better places to be than here."

_Does he not make you happy?_

"He makes me very happy, but he'd be happier if he were home and I'll be happier knowing he is."

_Are you certain that is what you want?_

"Yes. Don't just leave him in the middle of nowhere, okay? Put him in his bed if you can. Somewhere safe."

_We will do as you ask, if it will make you happy, Clint._

"It will." Clint leans forward to brush his lips against Phil's, smiling sadly when Phil chases the contact even in his sleep. "It was nice knowing you, Phil," Clint whispers. "You can take him home now."

Clint doesn't look away as the air between their faces starts to waver, then Phil is gone and Clint is alone again.

~^~

Four days later, Clint is firing arrows at the virtual range when the floor tilts wildly under his feet before everything shudders violently.

"Hey guys! What's going on?"

Maybe it's Clint's imagination, but the chime that precedes the text sounds panicked. 

_We appear to be under attack._

"What?!" Everything tilts again, more sharply than earlier, and then the ship is rocked by what Clint has to assume are two direct hits. "Please tell me you're attacking back."

_We have sworn not to to harm human life._

Another hit and Clint falls onto his knees as the floor lurches beneath him. "Fuck! Fine. If you can't fire back then get us the hell out of here."

_We cannot flee with you onboard._

"Then get rid of me and get out of here!" It takes Clint a few seconds without any response to get it. "Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."

_You have been more than accommodating and we would rather sacrifice ourselves than see you harmed._

Clint wants to bang his head on the floor, but refrains from pointing out that they're all dead if they get blown out of the sky. "Phil! Do you know where Phil is?"

_Yes._

"Beam me down to him. I'll be safe with him."

_We will comply. Thank you for your cooperation, Clint Barton._

"You're welcome!" Clint yells as the air shimmers in front of his face. 

In the next instant, he's kneeling on the ground in front of Phil and beside what looks like a huge cannon pointed at the sky. Clint doesn't really have time to dwell on it because he's being pulled to his feet and into Phil's arms. 

"Clint! Oh thank God it worked."

"Wha– huh?" Clint stammers and hugs Phil back. 

Phil pulls away, taking off his suit jacket to drape it across Clint's shoulders before pulling him back into a tight embrace. "We had to assume they'd release you before letting you come to harm. I was so worried they'd decide to take you away with them."

"Wait!" Clint leans back to look at Phil. "That was you? How–?"

"There was a tracker embedded in my clothes."

"Of course there was," Clint mutters with a fond shake of his head.

"Nice to see you alive and well, Barton." 

Clint turns his head at the familiar voice and is surprised to find one of his regular clients stepping out from behind the cannon. "Fury?"

"How do you know Clint?" Phil asks, looking between the two of them. 

"Remember that merc I've been telling you about?" Fury responds. "The one that's been doing odd jobs for SHIELD?"

Phil turns back to Clint with wide eyes. " _You're_ Hawkeye? The world's greatest marksman?"

"At your service?" Clint answers tentatively, unsure if Phil's reaction is positive or negative. 

Phil laughs, framing each side of Clint's face with his hands and using it to pull him forward for a kiss that Clint returns enthusiastically. 

"I guess it's true what they say—it's better to be lucky than good," Fury comments when they break apart. 

"Sir?" asks Phil, only moving his hands far enough to drop them onto Clint's shoulders. 

Fury nods toward Clint. "I've been trying to recruit him since his first successful job for us. Can I assume this means you'll stop turning down my offers?"

"Do I get to work under Phil?" Clint smirks and then grins when Phil chokes back an aborted laugh. 

Fury doesn't rise to the bait, holding his hand out for Clint to shake. Clint shifts—facing Fury while pressing closer to Phil, the agent's arm slipping around his waist. Phil gives him a reassuring squeeze to his hip and Clint moves his hand out from under Phil's jacket to accept Fury's handshake. 

"Welcome to SHIELD, Agent Barton."

~ _fin_ ~


End file.
